


Blessed Be The Sinners

by brontok



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 06:32:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brontok/pseuds/brontok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People worship Fernando like a god; Sergio makes him feel like a man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blessed Be The Sinners

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in LJ

They say the mind can travel far and wide. Whoever “they” are, they must be right: he’s here in the temple right now but his mind is elsewhere, somewhere far, far away.

Where his mind is, he is strolling in a crowded plaza, a cup of gelato in hand, pigeons flying up around him as he stomps across the cobblestone street, nobody in the crowd giving him a second glance, nobody bothering him with tributes of song and dance, nobody offering him their firstborn.

Where his body is, he is sitting in the middle of the temple they built for him, surrounded by priests and pilgrims partaking in the ceremony. His back is feeling stiff, his head throbbing because of the thick air, his robes coating his skin in sweat. But he is used to enduring through ceremonies longer than this one now, and it helps that he can at least let his mind wander.

The priest whispering in his ear cuts through his daydream: Lord so-and-so has come to pay his respects. He raises his head and sees a courtly gentleman in full regalia at the front of the line. The moment the priest motions for the gentleman to come forward, all formality in the latter’s posture is dropped as he curls down into a humble kneeling bow.

“Santo Niño, I come in complete subservience to your grace and wisdom. I am glad you bestow upon me the honor of your time.”

Fernando, el Santo Niño, asks him to get up. An otherwise-proud man bowing before him should be as normal a sight as the sheer number of people lining up outside everyday just to see him, but still it makes him uncomfortable. Nobody should be bowing to him, or kissing his feet, or declaring complete subservience, or lining up for days under the heat of the sun in hopes that he will bestow them his time. Nobody.

His eyes flick over to someone on his left, and the other pair of eyes look back at him in complete understanding. Of course he understands. This puts him at ease and he sighs inwardly, turning his attention back to the supplicant before him.

~~~

Sergio watches him attend to the mass of people who have come to the ceremony — some coming for the first time, others returning, others having never left the line. They come here from nearby or from afar, man and woman, young and old, rich and poor, and they all make the strenuous hike up from the village at the foot of the mountain to this temple at the top and overlooking the sea. They come to give tribute, pay their respects, ask for blessing, or just lay eyes upon the one known as el Santo Niño, the holy child — he of ageless innocence and serene wisdom, he who is favored by the gods. Lore says he had been offered to the gods as a babe, a gift to appease the stormy sea that had flooded the village and drowned village folk, including the babe’s own mother and father. Lore says he had been thrown off this cliff where the temple now stands, and that the sea had instantly calmed. Lore says he had been found three days later playing in the sand, the beautiful seaside weather reflected in his golden hair, his bright eyes, and the freckles dusting his skin.

Sergio doesn’t know if what the lore says is really true, but he always still finds himself fascinated by the worship, the awe, the following, and the love that el Santo Niño inspires. He really should know better. After all, he was once a wandering thief who had come to the temple that day, many years ago, to lift coins from the pilgrims’ pockets. He had turned and saw el Santo Niño watching him, and he was calling to him to come forward. He had spoken to him, and he would keep el Santo Niño’s words in his heart until the day he dies.

That day had been the last he had stolen anything from anybody, the last day he had wandered. That day was also the first he had come to know el Santo Niño as Fernando. That day, they had become lovers.

He watches Fernando as he attends to an old woman, her back bent and disease covering her skin. Fernando kisses her cheeks and holds her close as he whispers words in her ear. But when the old woman begins to shed tears of joy and clutch at his hand, kissing it repeatedly, Sergio sees his smile falter. It is a curious thing, something he has noticed in Fernando over the years. He meets his eyes again, and now Sergio thinks he understands.

Later, he knows Fernando will want to feel like a man.

~~~

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me.”

It is night, and all the priests, pilgrims, and tourists at the dedication ceremony had gone. It has been a tiring day, it always is, but he knows it is not just the heat and the number of people who had come; it’s also all the stories of pain and suffering he has listened to, the pleas for help he has tried to answer, the heartfelt gratitude and blind faith that people put in him. Everything is so tiring.

All he wants now is to be Fernando. Unlike el Santo Niño, Fernando is an ordinary man with less-than-innocent desires, a man whose wisdom is gained not by divine providence but from pure instinctual understanding of life. Fernando is a man not burdened by lore; he may not be favored by the gods, but he supposes he had never ever been favored by the gods at all, no matter what lore says. But since he has met Sergio…

Sergio doesn’t worship him. In bed, he makes Fernando beg. He makes Fernando mutter a string of curses and filthy words. He makes Fernando writhe in greedy pleasure. He makes Fernando savor arousal, lust, indecency, and shame. He turns Fernando into a sinner.

Once, thrusting in and out with abandon, he asks Fernando, “Are you really el Santo Niño?”

And Fernando answers with a moan, “I am not holy, nor am I a child.”

“But the gods have supposedly saved you from drowning.”

“It could have been the demon that saved me…”

And he is telling the truth. The people could have built a temple, could have been going on pilgrimage, could have been directing their worship for el Niño Demonio — and he himself wouldn’t have known.

“El Niño Demonio,” Sergio pants into his ear.

It is this that makes him come. He feels the stickiness spreading over his stomach, and he brings his hand down to feel it. Sergio smirks at him when he brings his hand back up to his mouth but he doesn’t say anything; he just keeps moving, slamming his hips against Fernando repeatedly even as he begins to shudder in his own orgasm.

Later, they are lying side by side, spent and sore, when Sergio speaks up again.

“Why do you still do it?”

“Why do I still do what?”

“Why do you keep on being el Santo Niño for them?”

Fernando is quiet for a moment as he thinks if he has actually ever been el Santo Niño. Nobody ever knows for sure how he had survived being thrown into sea, but the village had decided it was the work of the gods. It is the village folk who gave him the name now known around the country. It is the village folk who built him the temple. And he doesn’t remember actually hearing the voice of the gods speaking in his ear; the words he speaks that the people choose to believe are words coming from his own heart. And the gods do not come down to face the masses; it is him who is here everyday.

“Sometimes, I do like being appreciated for the sacrifice that my whole life has become,” he admits finally.

Sergio looks at him tenderly then, fingers treading through his hair. But Fernando warns him before it can go any further:

“Please do not start worshipping me now, Sergio,” he says carefully.

Sergio doesn’t even blink. “I don’t worship you. I just love you.”

“Good.”

Soon, they fuck again. He moves to the rhythm of the body against him, he feels nails and teeth digging into his skin, his body is covered in sweat, spit, and cum. Sergio turns him into a sinner, partaking in this debauchery. Sergio makes him feel like a man.

It is night, and he is not el Santo Niño. He is Fernando, an ordinary man, and he just might love another man back.

~~~


End file.
